


ten feet apart;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier encounter a monster with... interesting consequences, to say the least.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 102
Kudos: 1279





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok i deleted my last fic - i received the message loud & clear that y'all werent liking it so!  
> im sure y'all have a good idea where this is headed based on this chap & the title but ;)
> 
> follow me on twitter @ queermight

Geralt had a flaw, a deadly one–he always thought he could handle things on his own, and this task had been no exception. He’d been paid a bulging bag of coins to kill a monster who’d been terrorizing the town he’d been staying in for the last week. The man who’d paid him had been old and had offered very little details.

Shrugging, he’d grabbed the bag of coins and walked out of the tavern. He’d gotten the only information he really needed: where the monster usually first showed up at night.

It was on the outskirts of town, predictably, which meant the monster probably lived in the woods. Geralt waited until the sun was setting before he left the inn and walked to the outskirts of town.

The roads were empty. No people or horses or pets in sight.

Geralt frowned as he stopped, staring blankly into the line of trees surrounding the town. His fingers twitched, already wanting the familiar comfort of his sword.

It was eerily quiet. He saw something through the trees and drew his sword. Geralt waited, patiently, until he realized the thing stepping out of the trees was no monster, just a man.

A man with a very familiar face. Geralt lowered his sword, frowning.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier startled and looked up, brushing off his clothes. “Geralt,” he greeted with an impish grin as he walked over and joined him. “What are the odds?”

“Do you know there’s a monster in those woods?” he asked blandly.

Jaskier gasped, turning around to peer back into the trees. “Really? No, I was just passing through to–” Geralt threw up a hand, covering his mouth. Jaskier pouted, he could feel it, but didn’t push his hand away.

He could hear something, a low grumbling, from deep within the woods. He knew Jaskier, with his human hearing, probably couldn’t.

“Stay quiet,” he growled, pulling his hand away from the bard’s mouth.

Jaskier blinked once and cleared his throat. “Geralt, you know you could’ve just told me to–”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, glaring at him.

Jaskier pouted again, but he obeyed, at least, watching silently. Geralt’s eyes searched the trees, eventually finding something of interest: there was a dark shape moving in the distance.

“You need to go,” he said gruffly. “Hide.”

Jaskier looked at him like he was crazy. “No way, I’m not leaving you–”

The thing–the monster–jumped out of the woods then and he gasped, scrambling back. It was an ugly monster with dark, course hair all over its body and sharp teeth.

Geralt realized, with a start, that he didn’t know what he was facing, which hadn’t happened in decades, at least. He rarely found a monster he didn’t know.

“Go!” he screamed at Jaskier again, who finally took off running. He lifted his sword and the monster snarled, running toward him.

Geralt avoided the monster’s sharp teeth, jumping to the side, and brought his sword down into the fleshy meat of the monster’s neck. Yelping, the monster fell over and stopped moving.

He kicked at it with his foot, but nothing.

“Is… is it dead?” Jaskier asked, peeking out from behind a building.

Geralt pressed his lips together. “That is not what I meant by hiding,” he said plainly. He kicked the monster again and still nothing. “But yeah.”

Looking pleased, Jaskier stepped out from behind the building and walked over. He rarely got such a good look at any of the monsters Geralt slayed. He crouched down and studied it.

“Odd-looking fellow, hmm?” He looked up at him. “What is it?”

Geralt hated not having an answer. “I don’t know,” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier gasped dramatically and stood back up. “The great witcher… doesn’t know?” he grinned. “Well, this is one for the books.”

“Whatever,” he said. “It was violent and I killed it, so there.”

Jaskier winked. “A job well done,” he agreed. “You should tell the townsfolk before the damned thing disappears or something.” Which had happened more than once and none of them ever believed Geralt had actually slayed their monster.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Just for good measure he kicked the monster again. Still nothing. Feeling content with his decision, he walked off to search for the old man.

Jaskier hmmed, watching him as he went, before turning back to the monster. He crouched back down and poked at it.

“So fluffy,” he mumbled. He poked again and noticed there was something, like dust, lifting off the monster and mixing into the air. Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “Gods, monsters are so weird.”

Jaskier barely realized what was happening until he doubling over, gasping in pain. He clutched at his stomach. Jaskier knew pain, he’d survived the Djinn, but this was something else. He could barely breathe, gasping for air and rolling over onto his back.

The sky was dark, full of stars.

“Don’t–” he gasped. “Don’t pass out,” he said. “Jaskier, don’t–don’t you - ”

It was too late; his eyes shut and he didn’t open them again.

“Jaskier,” a gruff voice calling his name. “Jaskier, wake up. Jaskier!”

He gasped and opened his eyes, sitting up so fast he knocked heads with Geralt, who cursed and leaned back. Jaskier blinked a few times and looked around; they were still at the same spot and the sky was still dark.

“Ho–how long was I out?” he asked.

Geralt was staring at him. “I don’t know. When I returned, you were on the ground.” He almost sounded worried. “You looked dead, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked over at him and smiled sheepishly. “I’m not. Yay.”

“What happened?” he asked. “The monster–it didn’t do anything, right?”

Jaskier looked over at the monster. “Not… really? Um. I don’t know; I leaned down and noticed there was something coming off his body?” He turned his attention back to Geralt, who looked reasonably confused. “It was, like, a blueish dust. Or something.”

“Fuck,” he cursed. “That could’ve been poison or something.”

Jaskier looked down at his body. He curled his toes, his fingers. “I don’t think so?” he said. “I–I feel fine, Geralt. Maybe it was just… I don’t know.”

“We don’t know,” he agreed gruffly and stood up, offering a hand to Jaskier. “And that’s the problem.”

Jaskier shrugged and accepted the help, standing up. He dusted off his clothes and took a few experimental steps. “I’m fine, Geralt, really,” he cheered, spinning around. “Do you see anything worrying?”

Geralt eyed him openly. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “But still,” he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, leading him away from the monster’s body. “You should rest.”

“Hmm, I am tired,” he said, smiling when he noticed Geralt’s look of vague concern. “Just from my travels,” he assured him.

Geralt nodded and looked away, leading him to the local inn. He ignored Jaskier’s protests (“let me pay for my own room! Geralttt”) and opened the door to his room.

He helped him to the bed despite even more protesting (“I’m fine, Geralt”).

Jaskier sat down on the hard mattress and sighed, leaning back against the headboard without a second thought. Geralt hmmed, eyeing him for a moment longer, before he turned away.

“Wait!” Jaskier all but yelped, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

Geralt turned around. “I couldn’t find that old man,” he explained. “So I’ll find someone else to confirm that’s their monster.” He raised an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. “Are you scared to be left all alone?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he replied quickly. “Just–” he gestured at the door “–go.”

Almost smirking, Geralt turned back around and walked to the door. He opened it, took one step into the hall, and ran back in when he heard Jaskier’s undeniable gasp of pain.

Jaskier was doubled over on the bed, clutching his sides. Geralt rushed over and crouched down, hand hovering awkwardly in the air.

“Jaskier, what is it?” he asked. “Talk to me.”

He looked up and took a few deep breaths. “That was… intense.”

“Wh–but you feel okay now?” he asked, a little skeptically. Jaskier looked fine, now, as he sat back up.

“I–I think so,” he said with a nod. “Sorry. Um, you can go. I’ll be fine.”

Geralt stared at him, unnerving, for a long few seconds. “I don’t think I should,” he said finally.

“Gods, I am not a child,” he said with a huff. “I’ll be fine. Go, show these ungrateful townsfolk you’re a hero.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt stood back up and walked to the door. He hesitated for a split second before he stepped out of the room. Almost instantly Jaskier was withering in pain again.

Geralt stepped back in and Jaskier gasped, loudly, taking a deep breath.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, oh, this–this is not good,” he said, looking up into Geralt’s stunned face. “Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with me?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secromancer... i said it once as a joke and couldnt stop saying it... so here we are

Geralt had no answers–he had never experienced something like this before. He stared at Jaskier, silent.

“Geralt!” he said, louder. “Can you please say something? You’re scaring me.”

He shook his head, clearing his mind. “Bard,” he said, stepping closer and pausing at the foot of the bed. “I hate to say this, but I have no idea what’s going on.”

Jaskier stared at him with wide eyes. “You–you don’t know? But you’re Geralt of Rivia!” he exclaimed, almost hysterical.

Geralt frowned and sat on the bed. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, but I’m sure–” he remembered what Jaskier had said about the monster. He narrowed his eyes. “You said you noticed something coming off the monster?”

“Um–oh,” Jaskier said, nodding quickly. “Yes, like a dust. Why?” he leaned closer, clutching the wool blanket. “Please, please tell me that means something to you.”

Geralt hmmed. “Not exactly, but it’s likely that dust is causing your problem.”

“Wow,” Jaskier replied dryly. “Helpful.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes again, eyebrows furrowing together. “I don’t know everything, lark,” he said gruffly. “I’m only trying to help.”

“I–I know,” he sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a second. He opened them again and smiled tightly. “Perhaps we should see if the town has a healer or something?”

Geralt nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, voice rough.

Jaskier stood up and took a few steps, looking at Geralt with confusion. “I feel fine,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s probably just coming and going in waves,” he replied, eyeing him skeptically. “Come on,” he said, turning away.

Jaskier followed him closely, nearly stepping on the back of his feet. Geralt stopped someone and asked if there was a healer nearby. The little old lady smiled politely and pointed.

“Down there–little dearie works in a tent.”

Geralt grunted and turned, stalking off. Jaskier lingered for a second, saying their thanks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the lady said, waving a hand, “no problem at all.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, a reply on his tongue, before doubling over, nearly falling. The lady–bless her, he’d think later–tried to help but she was too weak. Thankfully, he heard Geralt’s hurried footsteps and soon felt one of his strong arms wrapping around his waist.

“What happened?” he asked gruffly, looking at the lady.

She stepped back. “I–I don’t know; he just suddenly doubled over.”

Geralt grunted and kept an arm around Jaskier’s waist as he turned them around. Jaskier took a deep breath.

“I–I think I’m fine, Geralt,” he said after a moment.

Geralt looked at him, unconvinced. “I still think I should help you,” he said, leaving no room for argument. Jaskier nodded, and almost smiled.

Soon they could see the tent, a few feet away and located at the edge of the woods. Geralt tightened his arm, reflexively, around Jaskier’s waist as he led them the rest of the way.

Jaskier thought, briefly, of the Djinn. He wondered if Geralt was thinking about that, too.

“Hello?” Geralt called once they reached the tent. “Is there a healer here?”

A man–an elf, Jaskier realized–stuck his head out of the tent, blinking. “Oh,” he said, looking them up and down. “Oh. Right, yes. That–that would be me. Please.” He pulled one side of the tent up and out of the way. “Come in.”

Geralt grunted, a skeptical look on his face, as he dragged Jaskier into the tent.

“Right, well, my name is Amon,” the elf greeted, extending a hand.

Geralt stared at it, unblinking, and Jaskier sighed, taking the elf’s hand and shaking lightly. “Jaskier,” he said, nodding at Geralt, “and this, here, is Geralt.”

Amon smiled brightly. “Geralt, the White Wolf?” he asked. “Oh, that is a pleasure–yes, yes. How may I help you both?”

“Oh, well,” Jaskier said, fidgeting. “See, I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Amon frowned, looking him up and down. “What’s going on?”

“Geralt defeated a monster earlier tonight and, well, I noticed something odd coming off it. A dust, a–a kind of light blue color?” he explained. “Since then, I’ve been having bouts of pain and dizziness.”

Amon nodded, listening intently. “Well,” he said after a moment, looking up. “I can’t say I’ve heard of anything like this.”

Geralt made a noise, something between a snarl and growl. Jaskier quickly placed a hand on his chest.

“Calm down,” he said, smiling tightly at Amon. “Can you please just take a look?”

Amon shrugged. “Why not?” He walked over and gestured at a seat, which Jaskier gladly took. Amon pulled a chair over and sat across from him. He held up a piece of something–glass, Jaskier thought–and peered through it. “Oh, oh, this isn’t good.”

Jaskier’s stomach lurched. “Wh–what is it?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Amon put the glass down. “You’ve been cursed, and…” He looked at Geralt and picked the glass up again, peering through it. “Ah, yes, you’re no better, dear Witcher.”

Jaskier blinked. “But that makes no sense,” he said quickly. “He’s fine.”

Amon shrugged, lowering the glass. “I don’t have all the details, but there is something odd attached to you both. It’s admittedly stronger on you, though,” he said, pointedly looking at Jaskier.

“How do we get rid of it?” he heard Geralt ask.

Amon shrugged again, and Jaskier took a deep breath. He was not a violent person but in that moment, well, he would’ve gotten a real joy out of punching the elf in the face.

“I do not know,” he answered bluntly.

Geralt huffed out something like a laugh, but bitter. “You don’t know?”

“You will need a mage, most likely,” he answered. “Sorry to say.”

Geralt turned away and stormed out of the tent. Jaskier was immediately hit in the gut with a sharp bout of pain.

“Witcher,” Amon called loudly. “Get back in here!”

Geralt reappeared a few seconds later, a pinched expression on his face. “Wh–” he started, cutting himself off when he saw Jaskier, doubled over and clutching his stomach. “Fuck.”

“I have an idea,” Amon said. “If you wish for my help still.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, still clutching his stomach longer after the pain had subsided. “Yes,” he breathed. “Please.”

“Right, okay, well.” Amon stood up. “I want to run a–a test of sorts.”

Geralt looked skeptical. “What kind of test?” he asked gruffly.

“Nothing bad,” he assured him, looking between the Witcher and the bard curiously. “Very simple, actually. Geralt, could you please step outside?”

Geralt hesitated. Jaskier smiled at him tightly.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Sighing, Geralt turned and walked out of the tent. Jaskier gasped, the pain like an arrow through the abdomen. Geralt rushed back in without prompting. “Jaskier, are you–”

“I’m–I’m fine,” he said through a cough. “Just. Peachy, really.”

Geralt frowned, unamused, but Amon interrupted before he could say anything, “Geralt,” he said, “again.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m not leaving Jaskier again.”

Jaskier tugged on Geralt’s arm. “Go,” he said. “Let–let the elf doctor do his thing.”

Geralt huffed out a sigh and turned around, stomping back out of the text. Jaskier groaned, leaning over and burying his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he cursed just as Geralt ran back in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he barked, and Jaskier looked up just in time to see Geralt cornering the poor elf. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he continued harshly. “You’re doing something–”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, standing on shaky legs. “Stop it. It’s not him.”

He looked over at the bard with a deep frown. “Are you sure?”

Jaskier nodded weakly and Geralt sighed again, backing up. Jaskier walked over, slowly. “Doc,” he said, smiling, tight and nervous. “Any ideas yet?”

Amon stared at Jaskier. “Oh, yes,” he breathed. “But I don’t think you’re going to like my answer.” Geralt stepped forward, glaring down at him, and he quickly continued, “I believe you were cursed first, Jaskier, seeing as you were the one who witnessed the powder. Tell me, was Geralt the first person you saw after the incident with the dust?”

“I–” Jaskier blinked. “Um, yeah. Why?”

Amon nodded, turning around and thumbing through a book. Jaskier looked over his shoulder–it was a book on curses, ancient and written in Elder. “I think you killed a Secromancer, Witcher.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said. “You mean a Necromancer, right?”

Amon turned around, holding the book open to a page. Jaskier squinted. He couldn’t read most of it–his Elder was rusty, at best–but there was no denying the resemblance of the Secromancer and the monster Geralt had slaughtered just a few hours earlier.

“I don’t understand,” Geralt said. “How have I never heard of these before?”

Amon hmmed, closing the book. “Secromancers were believed to be myths, mostly. I–I honestly thought they were, too, but this… this is unbelievable,” he said, almost in awe.

Jaskier smiled tightly. “Yes, yes, woo, you made a cool discovery, now can you please tell us what we need to do?”

“Well, the answer is obvious, isn’t it?” he asked.

Geralt grunted, and Jaskier shrugged. Amon sighed.

“You have to tell each other your deepest, darkest secret. The one thing you’ve never told anyone else.” Amon almost looked like he was getting joy out of their misery, which just made Jaskier want to punch him again. “Once you do, the curse will be lifted.”

Geralt stared at Amon, unblinking and frowning. Jaskier laughed sheepishly. “You’re–you’re fucking with us, right?” he said, smiling. “I mean, what the fuck kind of curse is that?”

“What happens if we don’t… do _that_?” Geralt asked.

Amon hmmed, opening the book again. “Well, death is not guaranteed, at least,” he said, a little too brightly. “But until the curse is broken, you two will be unable to be further than ten feet away from each other at any given moment.”

Jaskier let out a soft, hysterical laugh. “What?”

“To be fair, Geralt will experience no pain or issues from it,” Amon continued like he hadn’t even heard him, “but Jaskier, here, will be in terrible pain every time you’re too far apart.”

Geralt looked up, squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Fuck_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mild (mentioned) homophobia pls be safe

Jaskier followed Geralt through the town, silent and wringing his hands. Geralt hadn’t said anything since they left the healer, a sour look on his face. He knew why, of course–he wasn’t exactly thrilled about being cursed himself, but still they were stuck together.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and caught up with him.

“Hey, Geralt,” he said, a little too brightly, “at least it’s not something worse, right?”

Geralt didn’t even look at him. He didn’t even _grunt_ , which was really worrying.

“I mean, at least neither of us will be dying,” Jaskier continued, still bright and mostly forcing it. He stared at Geralt’s face, perfectly blank. “ _Geralt_ ,” he whined, stopping in front of him. “You can’t just ignore me. Not right now.”

Geralt stopped. His lips twitched downward. “This never would’ve happened if you hadn’t–”

“Okay, no,” Jaskier interrupted sharply. “You don’t get to blame me for this.”

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose and turned away. Jaskier sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, and winced when Geralt got too far. He barely noticed when Geralt returned, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he grumbled.

Jaskier looked up and smiled tightly. “It’s okay,” he said, standing up straight.

“I can feel it,” Geralt said, confusing the bard. He looked away. “It’s not pain, not exactly, but… I can feel your discomfort.”

Jaskier hated that he felt relief. “Good,” he said, jutting his chin in the air. “Means you can’t just abandon me.”

Geralt stared down at him. “I would never do that,” he said simply.

“Really?” he shot back, a little harsh, “because you’ve done it before.”

Geralt frowned, silent, as he turned away again and began walking toward the inn. Jaskier sighed, yanking his fingers through his hair, and followed him. This was obviously not going to be easy.

Geralt took a bath first. Jaskier stood in the hall, close enough that he was a little uncomfortable but in no real pain. A few minutes later, the curtains were pushed out of the way as Geralt stepped out, hair dripping, clothes sticking to his wet body.

Jaskier pointedly stared at his feet.

“Your turn,” he said gruffly and Jaskier quickly ran through the curtains.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the small washroom, watching as the innkeeper–bless her–silently refilled the tub. He looked back at the door and imagined Geralt waiting in the hall, still dripping wet–

He covered his face and groaned. Thank the Gods for a good, warm bath.

Jaskier stepped in the tub and sunk down below the water. He grabbed the soap and quickly washed himself off. It was the least he could do.

Finished, he stepped out of the tub and dried off. He pulled back on his clothes and pushed his hair out of his face before he left the washroom.

Geralt looked up at his arrival. Nodding, he pushed off the wall and started in the direction of their room.

Jaskier followed quickly. Geralt opened the door and waited for Jaskier, which was an improvement, at least.

Their night was surprisingly normal after that; Geralt sat on the bed, cleaning his swords with a steady hand. Jaskier sat on the floor, idly strumming his lute and testing new melodies.

Jaskier knew, deep down, they were both avoiding things.

“So,” Jaskier said finally, feeling like he was covered in ants, prickly and nervous. “Are we going to–I don’t know–talk or something?” Geralt didn’t even look up. “I mean, we can’t fix this if we just act like it’s not happening.”

Geralt grunted, scrubbing at his sword a little harder.

“Geralt,” he said, a little softer. His hand stilled on his sword. “It’s clean.”

Sighing, Geralt tossed the rag and leaned his sword against the wall. “Jaskier,” he said evenly. “Do you really want to do this?”

Jaskier placed his lute aside carefully, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. “Well, no,” he admitted. “But do we really have a choice?”

“Yes,” Geralt hissed. “We just need to find a capable mage and they can–”

Jaskier sighed heavily. “We don’t _know_ that,” he interrupted. “And we don’t even know where Yennefer is. We could be stuck like this for months if we don’t just get it out of the fucking way.”

“I didn’t say it had to be Yennefer,” Geralt replied evenly.

Jaskier ran his tongue over his teeth. “No,” he said quietly, “you didn’t.”

They were both silent after that. Jaskier groaned softly and buried his face against his knees. “Why,” he said finally, “did this have to happen to us? Anyone else– _anyone_ –and this would be easier, but, no,” he looked up, peeking at Geralt from under his bangs, “I had to be stuck with the most emotionally constipated person in the world.”

Geralt frowned, looking genuinely offended as if he hadn’t merely spoken a fact. “I’m not emotionally constipated,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier laughed, surprising even himself. He shook his head. “Geralt,” he said in his nicest voice, “you have the emotional range of a rock.”

He didn’t get a reply; Geralt just frowned deeper.

Jaskier suddenly felt bad, a sharp pain in his chest that had nothing to do with their curse. He stood up and joined Geralt on the bed. “I don’t really think that, you know,” he said.

“Hmm?” was the only reply he got.

Jaskier sighed. “It was a joke–a _bad_ , insensitive joke,” he continued, looking over at Geralt with warm eyes. “I know humans think you’re emotionless, but I’ve never thought that, not even for a second.”

Geralt looked at him. Jaskier smiled, nudging him with his shoulder.

“You’re actually more human than most of the humans I’ve met,” he said, and he was smiling but Geralt must’ve noticed the sharp edge to his words because he reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

“Jaskier?” he asked, a loaded question.

He looked away. “Okay, um, ready for my first big secret?” he asked, hands curling into fists in his lap.

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier barely caught sight of it. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and unlocked a memory he’d locked away for years.

“I–I know you probably think I had a privileged childhood and in a lot of ways I did,” he said, a little fast, “but only for the first few years because, um.” Jaskier closed his eyes and Geralt’s hand, still on his arm, squeezed, a silent comfort that Jaskier did not expect. “After my father caught me in the back of a barn with a boy, things were– _less_ good.”

The Continent was progressive in some ways, but lacking in others. Some towns, some cities, were more approving of Jaskier’s sexuality but others were not. His father, sadly, had landed on the wrong side of history.

“Things were… actually kind of bad after that,” he said, quieter. “Some of the kids started teasing me, too, and it was mostly innocent stuff, you know.” Jaskier ignored the sharp pain between his ribs, swallowing thickly. “But then–then the guy I had a crush on, the one who was with me in the barn the day we got caught…”

He trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek, and Geralt leaned into his line of vision. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I do,” Jaskier said roughly. “Um, so. Anyway, he joined in with the other kids and I was so _hurt_. I didn’t understand why all of it was happening. I–I liked girls, too, you know, so what was the harm?”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I played the part, I did everything right, until I was finally old enough to travel on my own. I stuffed a bag full of my things and left and I haven’t looked back since.”

Geralt squeezed his arm again, soft but firm. “Your father was wrong,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier looked over and smiled sadly. “Oh, dear Witcher, I know that. _Now_.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied and he pulled his hand back.

Jaskier sighed, wiping roughly at his eyes. “Anyway,” he turned, facing Geralt on the bed. “Your turn.”

“I–” he started before pausing and starting over. “My mother abandoned me,” he said, straight to the point. Jaskier frowned, but stayed quiet, not wanting to push. “She abandoned me and that’s how I am what I am,” he said, gesturing at himself. “I was mad at her for a really long time.”

Jaskier nodded and reached out, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm, squeezing.

“Honestly,” Geralt said, “I’m still mad at her, all the time. Not even because I’m _this_ –” he patted his own chest “–now, but because she–” Geralt cut himself off and took a deep breath. “She abandoned me.”

Jaskier stroked Geralt’s arm with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincere. “Parents have a way of fucking with you for the rest of your life.”

Geralt snorted, and Jaskier took that as a good sign. “Yeah,” he agreed gruffly.

“Okay, well,” Jaskier swallowed thickly and stood up. “Ready to test it?”

Geralt nodded, silent, as Jaskier smiled tightly and walked to the door. He opened it and took one step into the hall, doubling over as soon as he was hit with a burst of blinding pain. Geralt jumped up and rushed to him.

Geralt crouched down, touching his back, and the pain subsided like magic.

Well, it _was_ magic, wasn’t it?

Jaskier took a deep breath and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Definitely did _not_ work,” he panted, smiling tightly.


	4. Chapter 4

The thing was, Jaskier did not think he had very many secrets. Over the next few days, he spilled his heart out. Geralt took each confession or admission and responded with his own.

But it still wasn’t enough, and the scary part was–

“I think it’s getting worse,” Jaskier said, wringing his hands. Geralt looked solemn. “Geralt, I can’t even be across the room from you without getting a pain in my stomach.”

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I _know_.”

“We have to do something,” Jaskier said, stepping closer. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. “Wh–what happens if–”

He didn’t get to finish his question because Geralt looked up, eyes flashing, and interrupted him. “It won’t,” Geralt said firmly. “We’ll find a way.”

He would’ve never pegged Geralt as the optimistic type, but right now he was keeping Jaskier’s impending panic attack at bay and he appreciated that. He smiled, tight, and sat on the bed. “Well, when all else fails–” he flopped back on the bed. “Sleep is always a friend.”

Geralt let out something akin to a laugh. Jaskier felt the bed dip as Geralt joined him; they’d started sharing a bed early on in their travels, saved them money and was simply more comfortable.

Normally Jaskier did not have a problem with the arrangement but tonight his skin felt like it was on fire.

Rolling over, he peered at Geralt, who stared back at him in the dark.

His heart jumped in his chest as he remembered things he tried never to remember. He remembered the first time he saw Geralt, tucked away in a dark corner of a tavern. He remembered his first thought, clear as day, upon seeing him: _I want him._

It’d been a stupid thought. He’d known that, more than ever, when he saw the way Geralt had pined after Yennefer.

Even if he’d ever had an interest in men, Jaskier was not to be one of them.

So, early on, decades ago, he’d taken his feelings and buried them, deep. Normally he didn’t even think of them but right now, looking at Geralt, he did. “I’m sorry,” he said before he could say something else he would surely regret.

“For what?” he asked almost immediately.

Jaskier knew he was just being kind. He sighed. “I did this. I cursed us.” He rolled over on his back. “If I hadn’t shown up at the wrong time, none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry.”

Geralt hmmed. “It’s not your fault,” he said gruffly. “Destiny is just a bitch.”

He smiled in the dark. “Like you said, we’ll find a way.” He tried to believe it.

Jaskier opened his eyes and sat up. It was early morning, judging by the view through their window. He looked over and down at Geralt’s sleeping face.

He rarely got a good look at Geralt when he was asleep; he was such an early riser. Jaskier watched him, silent, until he stirred and opened his eyes.

He promptly looked away, clearing his throat.

Geralt slowly sat up. “How long have you been up?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and it shouldn’t have been sexy.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. He’d gotten over his crush, years ago, so why was it coming back _now_? “I need a bath,” he said in way of an answer.

He could _feel_ Geralt’s eyes on him. “Jaskier, are you okay?”

“Yes, Geralt,” he replied a little too quickly. He climbed out of bed and smoothed out a few wrinkles in his undershirt. “Hurry up; I feel disgusting.”

And he did, just not physically. They were supposed to be fixing things, and here Jaskier was making things more complicated with pesky _feelings_.

Geralt followed him to the washroom. Jaskier smiled tightly as he brushed the curtains out of the way. He had barely taken four steps before the pain hit him. He groaned, doubling over, and Geralt was at his side in seconds.

“Jaskier?” he asked. “I don’t understand; this shouldn’t be hurting you.”

He looked up, sweat-slick with the pain. “I don’t think my body cares what you think,” he said, smacking his lips. The pain was subsiding with Geralt’s proximity, at least.

“Right,” he replied tersely. “I’ll just stay in here, then.”

Jaskier’s brain took a few long seconds to understand what he was implying. They had seen each other naked before, yes, but usually it was Jaskier seeing Geralt naked, not the other way around.

He found he preferred it that way. He straightened up slowly.

“You mean…?”

Geralt was standing in one of the corners of the room. “Do you have another option?”

He didn’t, of course, but the thought of bathing with Geralt standing _right there_ was a lot. But he couldn’t rightfully say so without raising a million other questions.

So he smiled tightly and walked over to the tub, full of warm water.

Jaskier’s fingers shook as he took off his clothes, layer by layer. Finally, he sunk in the water, sighing as the warm water washed over him, soothing most of the tension of his body.

He couldn’t help glancing over at Geralt, still awkwardly brooding in the corner. He smiled, just barely.

“Please just get over here,” he said.

Geralt hesitated for a second before he walked over and sat on the edge of the tub. Jaskier hmmed, satisfied, and picked up the soap.

“Remind you of anything?” he asked after a moment, referring to their situation.

There was no missing the smirk, however brief, that flashed across Geralt’s face. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Want me to rub chamomile on _your_ bottom?” he asked, obviously teasing but the words–the thought–sent something hot through Jaskier’s veins.

He smiled tightly and looked away, scrubbing a little too hard at his skin.

He was just about to wash his hair when Geralt opened his big mouth: “Want some help?” And how could Jaskier say no to _that?_

So he tilted his head back, eyes closed, as Geralt scrubbed at his scalp.

Jaskier had always been a sucker for having his hair played with, and he barely realized he’d gotten hard until Geralt was pouring water over his head, rinsing the soap out.

He went stiff and wondered briefly if Geralt could smell his arousal.

“Um,” he said lamely. One look at Geralt’s face and he had his answer. He flushed, brightly, and suddenly felt like dying from embarrassment was a real thing.

Geralt cleared his throat and stood up. “I–I’ll give you some privacy–”

Jaskier smiled ruefully. “But you can’t,” he pointed out. “Remember?”

Geralt stared at him for a long, silent moment. “Right. Well, um.” Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Geralt stammer over his words. He almost felt proud of his accomplishment.

“Don’t be such a _prude_ , Geralt,” he said, ignoring his own nerves in favor of soothing–and maybe even teasing–Geralt. “Just give me a second and it’ll go away.”

Geralt nodded curtly, silent. Jaskier really thought it’d go away, especially if he ignored it, but _Geralt was staring at him_ and that was not helping.

Geralt broke him out of his thoughts with three words: “I don’t mind.”

He looked up sharply. His brain was working slowly. “What?”

“You can take care of yourself,” he said. “I’ll turn around.”

“You’ll–you’ll _what?_ ” he sputtered.

Geralt shrugged, his expression pinched and tight. Jaskier knew he was just trying to be thoughtful, but he couldn’t seriously be suggesting he jerk off in the same room as him–mere _feet_ from each other.

Jaskier’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. He wondered briefly if Geralt could hear it. “Um. This is, like, totally weird,” he said with a bit of a laugh because what else was he supposed to say?

“I don’t mind,” he repeated simply.

And the thing was, he really did look unaffected by the whole thing. Jaskier shifted in the tub. It didn’t have to be a _thing._ He could just do this, quickly, and they could pretend like it never happened.

“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to,” Jaskier said finally.

Geralt raised a single eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do,” he said, and the words settled in Jaskier’s brain like bricks. _I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do._

What the _fuck?_

Geralt turned around, slow heavy footsteps, and Jaskier swallowed thickly.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, just as he wrapped his fingers around his aching cock.

Things should’ve been weird between them after that, right? But Geralt was acting perfectly normal and Jaskier wasn’t going to push it.

So he climbed out of the tub, dried off, and walked to their room with Geralt. They gathered their things, silent, and left the inn.

Considering their situation, Geralt allowed Jaskier on the back of Roach.

“I was thinking,” Geralt started after they’d been riding for a bit, “perhaps we should find Yennefer and see if she can do something about this.”

Jaskier felt something, unfair and ugly, in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Yennefer. He supposed Geralt had a point, though. “Okay.”

“Mmm,” was Geralt’s eloquent reply. He urged Roach faster, and they both fell quiet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things kick off in the next chap!! finally

They traveled for a few days before pausing in a small town. Jaskier was beyond grateful–he was noticing he was feeling weaker than usual, and Geralt even had to help him off Roach, a steady hand on his back.

“Are you worsening?” he asked, an odd tilt to his voice.

Jaskier realized, idly, that he was _worried_. He felt unexpectedly happy at the realization. “I don’t know?” he replied honestly. “Just… feeling weak.”

Geralt led him to the inn, never taking his hand off his back.

“Come on,” he heard, “just a few more steps.”

Geralt opened the door to their room and gently led him to the bed. Jaskier almost moaned he was so grateful for a _real_ bed. He plopped on it, ungracefully, staring up at the ceiling.

The bed dipped as Geralt sat beside him. “Jaskier,” he said.

Jaskier hmmed, hands folded together over his stomach. He startled, not expecting it, when Geralt placed a hand on his forehead. “Wh–?”

“You’re burning up,” he said, and the odd tilt in his voice was back. He pulled his hand back and cursed under his breath.

Jaskier wondered if that was true; he was too weak to check. His fingers twitched. “Geralt,” he breathed. “Am I–?”

“ _No,_ ” he interrupted sharply.

Jaskier blinked slowly, not really hearing him. He’d been feeling fine for the first two days on the road, what had happened?

He heard footsteps as Geralt climbed off the bed and walked to the door, opening it. Jaskier’s stomach lurched. “ _Geralt_ ,” he gasped, heart thumping loudly. He couldn’t handle the pain of separation right now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured him, turning to yell for the innkeeper.

The innkeeper–a little old lady–appeared just a few seconds later, looking vaguely intimidated. “Um, yes, sir?” she asked. “Did you need something?”

Geralt glanced over at Jaskier. He needed Jaskier to be okay, but that was a task far too complicated for an innkeeper. “Just a wet cloth,” he said finally. “My–my friend has a fever.”

The innkeeper nodded before she turned and ran off.

Jaskier groaned in pain, shifting on the bed, and Geralt rushed back over.

“I–I think–” Jaskier stammered, his mouth suddenly dry, “we might really need Ye–Yennefer’s help.”

Geralt reached out and brushed some sweat-slick hair out of Jaskier’s face. “We do,” he agreed, “but… we can’t travel with you in such a state,” he pointed out and Jaskier groaned again.

“I’m–I’m so sorry,” he gasped.

Geralt frowned. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “Keep your energy.”

The innkeeper showed back up with a wet cloth and Geralt thanked her, closing the door. Walking over, he sat on the bed and gently covered Jaskier’s forehead with the cloth.

Jaskier gasped–from pain or relief, Geralt couldn’t tell. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm,” he replied. “I’m–I’m okay. Better.”

Geralt visibly relaxed. “You should get some rest,” he said, “but just know I’ll be waking you up every hour.”

Jaskier smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. “Ugh,” he complained weakly. “You’re the–the worst.”

“Mhm,” he said, “I am.”

Geralt was not lying; every hour he jostled Jaskier’s shoulder, checking on him. He seemed to be doing better, genuinely, so he relaxed and stopped after the fifth or so hour.

By the morning, Jaskier was sitting up, drinking out of a canister of water.

“I don’t know what to do,” Geralt said, breaking the silence.

Jaskier looked over at him, licking his lips. His mouth wasn’t as dry as a desert anymore, at least. “What do you mean?” he asked, searching his face. He handed Geralt the canister, who took it silently and took a few gulps. “I’m pretty sure neither of us know what to do. If we did, none of this would be happening.”

Geralt hmmed, almost a snort. “I mean,” he said, “we need to find Yennefer but we can’t travel, not the way we need, with–”

“With _me_ slowing us down,” Jaskier finished dully.

Geralt looked over at him, frowning. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“No, probably not,” he agreed, “but it’s what you were thinking.”

Jaskier looked away. He hated slowing Geralt down, but it was all he ever seemed to do. He really did try his best, but in the end it was never enough. He was just a weak, slow human.

“Jaskier,” he said through a sigh, touching his arm. “Look at me.”

Jaskier’s heart thumped loudly at the skin contact, like a fucking schoolboy with a crush. He took a deep breath before he turned his head, peering into Geralt’s striking eyes.

“We’re in this together,” he said. “It is not your fault. Or mine.”

Jaskier smiled, brief. “Thanks,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t _believe_ that, of course, but it was still nice to hear, especially coming from Geralt, a man who rarely comforted others.

“We’ll just travel slowly,” he said.

Jaskier nodded, silently relieved, and watched as Geralt stood up and walked to the door again, calling for the innkeeper, asking her to draw a bath. Jaskier’s stomach lurched at the mention of a bath, memories of the other day rushing back to him.

Stroking himself, staring at Geralt’s back, wishing _he_ was the one touching him–

“Jaskier?”

He startled out of his thoughts. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Jaskier noticed the worried little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

He smiled, warmed by Geralt’s concern. “I’m okay,” he confirmed.

Geralt nodded, standing up straight again. Jaskier climbed out of bed, legs a little shaky from not being used much yesterday, and followed him to the washroom.

They both ducked under the curtains, stepping through to the washroom.

Jaskier realized then he didn’t really know what to do. He stood there, silent, watching dumbly as Geralt stripped out of his clothes.

Geralt stepped into the water and sunk down. Jaskier didn’t want to be weird–Geralt hadn’t been weird, right?–so he just stood there, watching as Geralt grabbed the soap and washed his body.

His heart thumped loudly, skipping a beat occasionally.

“We’re in no rush,” he said, and Jaskier blinked once, clearing his mind. “After this, we can have the innkeeper draw another bath.” Jaskier stared, dumb, for a second and Geralt noticed, perhaps, because he smirked. “For _you_.”

Jaskier startled, smiling brightly, a little _too_ bright. “Right, yes, okay.”

He noticed Geralt reaching for his hair and lunged forward, grabbing the soap out of his hands. “Let me,” he said, “as thanks for–for the other day.”

Geralt stared him for a moment. His eyes looked especially dark, but, well, it was probably just the lack of candles in the washroom.

He grunted in reply, and Jaskier circled around the tub, standing behind him as he sunk his fingers in Geralt’s hair, which was frankly unfairly soft, especially for a man who barely took care of it.

Jaskier finished and used the bucket to wash the soap out of his hair.

Geralt tilted his head back, and Jaskier was distracted by the long slope of his neck, the way his neck met his chest, peppered with dark hair, and he barely realized he was spilling water out of the tub until he felt Geralt’s fingers around his wrist.

“ _Jaskier!_ ” he hissed, and he startled.

 _Fuck_ , he needed to stop doing that. Geralt was going to catch on if he didn’t.

“Sorry,” he squeaked, smiling sheepishly.

Geralt stared at him, openly searching his face, and his heart stilled in his chest.

Jaskier’s eyes traveled downward–he was only human, okay?–and he noticed, with a shock, that Geralt was _hard_. And fuck, of course his cock was just as big as the rest of him.

He looked back up, slowly, but Geralt was still just staring at him.

He wondered, briefly, if Geralt even realized his own predicament. He was too embarrassed to ask.

Releasing his wrist, Geralt turned around and stepped out of the tub without a word. Jaskier gulped, silent, as he watched Geralt dry off and pull on his clothes. He needed to say something.

“I–I don’t need a bath,” he said, surprising even himself. Geralt looked over at him, narrowing his eyes. He smiled. “Just, um. I can wait. I–I really want to find Yennefer and, um–” he gestured between them “–fix _this_ as soon as possible.”

The longer they were stuck like this, the more likely he was to say the wrong thing. _To confess,_ he realized, stomach churning painfully. He wondered, for a split second, if that was it–his secret, but surely not. It was his deepest secret, yes, but not the _darkest_. He wasn’t _ashamed_ of loving Geralt.

 _Love,_ his mind repeated on a loop, _you’re in love with him._

“Okay,” Geralt said, standing tall. “If you’re sure.”

Jaskier nodded and followed him out of the washroom, back to their room. He gathered his things and hoped–prayed–this would all be over soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder to check out the link below if u enjoy my fics + wanna support me
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing

Three days later, Jaskier was puking up his guts, bent over with Geralt rubbing his back through it.

“Fuck,” he heard Geralt say once he’d settled down, slumping against the Witcher’s chest. He continued to rub his back. “You’re getting even worse.”

Jaskier smacked his lips, so unbelievably dry. “Wow, thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” he drawled, just a little mean. He wasn’t mad at Geralt, to be fair, just– being in pain did something to a person. He felt Geralt tense and sighed, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt shook his head, hand stilling on his back, a warm weight. “I understand,” he said gruffly. “We’re taking too long,” he said with a sigh, referring to their search for Yennefer.

They hadn’t even gotten a hint of her whereabouts in three whole days. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Jaskier had known that before but he had tried to be optimistic – for Geralt.

“We’re running out of choices,” Jaskier said, finally standing on his own. Geralt’s hand pointedly did not leave his back. Jaskier didn’t want it to. “We’re just–I don’t know, gonna have to do this on our own.”

Geralt’s left eye twitched as he pressed his lips together, tight. “You mean - ?”

“Yes, Geralt,” he interrupted, a little sharp around the edges. “We’re going to have to tell each other _everything_.”

Geralt’s hand fell away from his back and Jaskier immediately missed the warmth.

“I thought we already did,” he grumbled as he walked over and sat on the fallen log near their most recent campsite. “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled tightly, forcing it, and joined Geralt, tucking his hands together in his lap. “Well, it’s not enough,” he said with a small gesture. “We have to dig deeper.”

Geralt let out a snort; there was no humor in it. “Just what I’m good at.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Not exactly helpful. “Wait,” Jaskier said finally, turning his body toward Geralt. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” he said, speaking fast. “Maybe we’re missing something.”

Geralt raised a slow eyebrow. “Meaning?” he prompted impatiently.

Jaskier knew he probably wouldn’t like his answer. “Maybe we’re not supposed to tell each other just any random secret, but… our deepest secret _about_ the other person.”

“What?” was his reply, tensing again.

Jaskier wrung his hands but pointedly did not look away from Geralt, holding his own. “Think about it, we’ve told each other _so many secrets_ but none of them worked. There has to be a reason. I–I think I’m right, Geralt.”

Geralt stared at him, unimpressed. “Okay, so?” he prompted impatiently. “What do you think–”

Jaskier suddenly scrambled to his feet, standing in front of Geralt with a kicked puppy look. “Okay, um, I think you should know something.”

Frowning, Geralt tilted his head up. “I’m listening.”

“Right,” he said, a bit harsh. “Well, um. Geralt, I–” he took a deep breath and shook his shoulders out. “I think I still hold a bit of resentment toward you for, um–the mountain thing.”

Jaskier had been expecting… well, he didn’t know what he’d been expecting, honestly, but it certainly wasn’t what he got: Geralt mirrored his own kicked puppy look like a pro.

“What?” he asked, an odd tilt to his voice.

Jaskier looked down, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “It’s not, like, I _want_ to still be mad at you,” he said quickly. “And I’m not,” he said, looking up briefly. “Not _really_. But I mean, we never even properly talked about it and–and I’m–”

Geralt reached out suddenly, grabbing one of Jaskier’s hands. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier bristled, surprised. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, perfectly even. His eyes searched Jaskier’s face, unwavering. “I never should’ve said such hurtful things, especially when I didn’t mean any of it.”

Jaskier nodded, silent for a moment, mulling it over. “I admittedly did not expect an apology.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to the side, away from Jaskier’s face. He squeezed his hand, light. “I think that says a lot about the way I’ve been treating you,” he muttered.

Jaskier’s heart squeezed, almost painful, in his chest. He sat back down, never letting go of Geralt’s hand. He rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “You’ve been better,” he assured him, meaning it. “But I’m a petty bastard and I can’t let things go–”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he intercepted, not unkindly but firm. Geralt looked at him, eyes clear. “You deserved an apology and I’m sorry it took _this_ –” he gestured between them “–for me to wise up and say it.”

Jaskier smiled, soft. “Thank you, Geralt,” he said, at which the Witcher just shrugged. “Okay, well.” He cleared his throat and discreetly wiped his eyes. “Your turn. Anything you’ve been holding back?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, too fast.

Jaskier squeezed his hand. “Not uh, Geralt, no emotionally stunting yourself. Say it.”

“It’s stupid,” he said quickly. “And probably not important.”

Jaskier laughed, a huff of air, and nudged him with his shoulder. “Spit it out, spit it out,” he chanted with a childish grin. He hoped it wasn’t anything as depressing as his own secret, though, or else the next words out of Geralt’s mouth would–

“I like your voice,” he said between clenched teeth.

Jaskier blinked, coming back to himself. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ” he asked, genuinely taken back.

“I will repeat myself when Hell freezes over,” Geralt said gruffly, but Jaskier could’ve sworn he was blushing, just the lightest flush of his cheeks.

He grinned, giddy. “You think I’m the best singer in the whole wide Continent,” he teased brightly.

“That’s pushing it,” he replied, but the corners of his mouth quirked up.

Jaskier laughed airily and slumped against Geralt with all his weight. “I _knew_ it,” he said.

Geralt playfully shoved him and in that moment it was like everything was okay again, no worries. Jaskier turned his head and nipped playfully at Geralt’s shoulder, an useless feat considering the other man was still wearing his armor.

“So?” Geralt said finally, breaking the moment because he was the worst. “Did it…?”

Jaskier sighed, squeezing his hand once, and stood up. He shifted on his feet and started to walk. One, two, three steps. It wasn’t until he was probably ten or so feet away that the pain exploded through his abdomen, almost blinding.

Geralt jumped up and ran over, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t work,” he said; it wasn’t a question. He growled, scrubbing his other hand down his face. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

Jaskier smiled, tight. “But I was able to walk, what, like ten feet? That’s an improvement from this morning.”

Geralt nodded curtly, obviously deep in thought. “That means we’re moving in the right direction, right?”

“I–I think so,” he agreed, leaning his weight on Geralt, who silently wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Um. My legs feel like bricks. Could we–” he gestured at the log and Geralt nodded again, quick, helping him back to the log.

Jaskier sat with a sigh, rubbing his legs.

“Wait,” Geralt said, sitting up tall. “What if we compliment each other?”

Jaskier let out a bark of laughter, quickly covering his mouth as Geralt glared at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He sat up straight, mimicking Geralt. “Explain your reasoning.”

“I complimented you,” he said and Jaskier raised an eyebrow, “and it helped.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “It’s not the compliment that did it, Geralt,” he said, not unkindly. He patted his leg, letting his hand linger for a couple seconds because he was only human. “It was the fact it was a secret, but–” his nose scrunched up “–it’s cute you think that.”

Geralt growled, like an animal, and Jaskier took his hand away. “Would trying hurt anything?” he asked, and he knew Jaskier had no argument to that.

So the bard shrugged, leaning back. “Okay, well,” he batted his eyelashes, “serenade me, dear Witcher.”

“That’s your thing,” he replied sharply. “But okay. Um.” Geralt’s eyes flickered up to Jaskier’s hair, a little mussed from the day. “Your hair is really soft.”

Jaskier was at a loss for words. He hadn’t actually expected Geralt to do it. “Um. Thanks?” he squeaked, hoping he wasn’t blushing… _too_ hard.

Geralt nodded, much too curtly. He looked like he was leading an army, not complimenting his travel companion. “Your turn.”

“Oh,” he breathed because wow, where to start? He loved so many things about Geralt, even the things most people didn’t. Like his scars and the way he frowned when he was annoyed. “Okay, I–I like your–” he stammered, “I like your eyes.”

Which was certainly true; Geralt had the most beautiful striking eyes.

Geralt blinked, eyes widening the tiniest amount before he relaxed again. “Hmm,” he said in reply.

Jaskier jumped up, nearly falling on his face but thankfully Geralt steadied him. He smiled at him, grateful, before he walked away. He reached ten feet and kept going. His heart skipped a beat; there was no pain.

He turned around, facing Geralt, and kept walking. “I–I think you were ri–” he was cut off by a sudden shock of pain. He tumbled over, too fast for Geralt to reach him. Geralt still rushed over anyway, helping him back to his feet.

Geralt brushed off his trousers for him, ever the unexpected gentleman. Jaskier smiled softly.

“Well, that was, what, a good fifteen feet?” he asked, pursing his lips.

Geralt nodded, a sharp jerky movement. “I think it’s working,” he said. He paused. “Kind of.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “I don’t think complimenting each other is enough,” he said, slow. “We’re only _improving_ it, not stopping it.”

He watched as a few complicated emotions flashed across Geralt’s face, one after the other.

“Shit,” he whispered, and Jaskier blinked, surprised–“what, what is it?”–but Geralt simply stepped back, away from him. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “ _Fuck_.”

Jaskier’s skin prickled with fear. “Geralt, talk to me,” he said, stepping closer.

Geralt threw a hand up, stopping him. He took another step back. He was pushing their limits. “ _Don’t_.”

“Geralt,” he repeated impatiently. “You can’t hide stuff from me, _not_ about this, okay?”

He turned around, shoulders tense. Jaskier sighed, looking down.

“We should sleep,” Jaskier said finally, feeling defeated and exhausted. “Join me if you want. Or don’t.” He walked over and pulled their blanket out of the knapsack attached to Roach’s side. He unfolded it and placed it on the ground, smoothing the wrinkles out of it, just for something to do. He looked up; Geralt was still standing a few feet away, still as a board.

Jaskier frowned, ignoring his aching heart, and looked away. He laid down and tucked his hands under his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget everything.

A few minutes later, he heard heavy footsteps and then rustling as Geralt finally joined him. Jaskier rolled over but Geralt was facing away from him. Frowning again, he rolled back over and closed his eyes, ignoring the familiar sting of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhhh what do yall think geralt's revelation was


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u guys enjoyed this story it was rly fun to write <3 
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier opened his eyes. It was morning and the sun was high in the sky. Sighing, he rolled over and – “ _Fuck!”_ he exclaimed, startled by the sight of Geralt sitting up and staring at him with a pinched, almost pensive expression. He quickly sat up. “What the _fuck_ , Geralt?”

“I think I know what I need to tell you,” he replied.

Jaskier blinked once before he remembered their current situation. “What, really?”

“Yes,” Geralt said.

Jaskier stared at him, waiting. Geralt opened his mouth, closed it. He looked away, clenching his jaw, and Jaskier sighed, dramatically. “Geralt, what is it?”

“Something I had no intention of telling you,” he replied, cryptic as ever.

Jaskier scooted closer and Geralt – the bastard – scooted back, throwing a hand in the air between them.

“Don’t,” he said, and he sounded like he was almost in pain. “Stay back, okay?”

Jaskier ignored the fact he felt like he’d just been hit with an arrow through the heart. “Um, okay,” he said, quiet. “Sorry.”

He was silent after that. Geralt would tell him when he was ready. He didn’t want to push.

“I’ve only had feelings for a few people in my many years of life,” Geralt said finally. Jaskier looked up, tilting his head curiously, but still didn’t push. “There was a man when I was younger – ”

Jaskier’s heart squeezed in his chest. _A man?_ He’d never heard Geralt talk of his sexuality, but he’d always assumed he was straight, considering he’d only ever seen him with women, most notably Yennefer. It was thinking he was straight that made the pain bearable. To think Geralt was interested in men, just not _him_ specifically, was worse.

“He was a human. He died. I mourned him and moved on, telling myself I would never be so stupid again.”

Jaskier frowned. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out to Geralt, to comfort him and take him in his arms. He sat on his hands.

“Then I met Yennefer – ” Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper. “And _you_ ,” Geralt finished with an odd tilt to his lips.

And that –

 _That_ was confusing, to say the least.

Jaskier swallowed thickly and tried scooting closer again. Geralt stiffened, but didn’t move away. He reached out, slow, and placed a hand on Geralt’s arm. “Um. I’m confused,” he said, bluntly.

“Not surprising,” Geralt replied and he was pointedly not looking at Jaskier. “I made a point of hiding my feelings for you.” His eyes flickered up to Jaskier’s face, briefly, before falling again. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Jaskier knew what he was saying – he _heard_ him, at least – but none of it was computing. He smiled sheepishly and squeezed Geralt’s arm, light. “Geralt, I don’t – I don’t understand?”

He looked up. “I have feelings for you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier felt like his heart had stopped beating. He had spent so many years squashing his feelings for Geralt, burying them deep, and for _what?_ Geralt liked him, too? But –

“I don’t understand,” he repeated, quieter. “You never – I mean, there was never any indication – ”

Geralt laughed, bittersweet. “I told you, I didn’t want you to know.” He stared down at Jaskier’s hand, still on his arm. “If it wasn’t for this, I might never have told you, honestly.”

“But _why?_ ” Jaskier asked, fast. His heart started to beat again. “Geralt, I – ”

Geralt looked up, and the words died in his throat. Geralt looked – _furious_ , but not at him. “The only other human I ever had feelings for was _killed_ ,” he said, almost growling. “I allowed him to accompany me, and he died weeks later because I couldn’t _protect_ him.”

Jaskier was speechless. “You thought you were doing me some kind of _favor_?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Wasn’t I?” he spat.

Jaskier was angry and relieved and – “You should’ve told me,” he said. “Geralt, you don’t get to act like you were doing me some kind of favor when you were just being a fucking _coward_.”

“I was thinking of what was best for _you!_ ” he exploded, fire in his eyes. “Do you know how I would feel if you died? Because of _me?_ ”

Jaskier’s anger fizzled out. “Geralt,” he said, quiet and thick with emotion.

“I would’ve never forgiven myself, Jaskier,” he said, rough. “I know I went about it the wrong way – ”

Jaskier snorted. “Understatement.”

“ _But_ ,” Geralt continued sharply, “I really did think I was doing the right thing.”

He was looking at Jaskier with such pained eyes. Jaskier couldn’t stay angry at him, not when he was finally being honest. He squeezed Geralt’s arm. “There’s something you should know, too,” he said, soft. “I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.”

Geralt’s eyes widened, just a bit. “ _What?”_

Jaskier smiled, biting the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t even know you were a _Witcher_ at first, Geralt,” he said, mildly amused. “I literally just approached you because you were hot.”

Geralt was silent for a long, long moment. Jaskier decided _fuck it_ , and continued,

“At first it was just… you know, attraction or whatever,” he said, eyes flickering up and down the length of Geralt’s body, “but then… I don’t know.” Jaskier smiled, small and to himself, “I found myself actually _liking_ you.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I’m just a masochist, but – ”

He was cut off by Geralt grabbing his hand. His eyes were wild. “Why didn’t _you_ tell _me?_ ”

Jaskier almost laughed. “You’re not that dumb, Geralt,” he chided softly. “I didn’t even think you liked me as a _friend_ most days,” he said, the harsh truth. Geralt visibly winced. “Why would I derail everything by telling you how I felt?”

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it. Looked away. “ _Fuck_ ,” he said, full of emotion, and Jaskier did laugh.

He turned his hand over, waiting, and Geralt slotted their fingers together. Jaskier felt like he was walking on air. He swallowed his excitement because there was still too much to talk about, to _say_. He couldn’t get too excited yet.

“We’re both idiots,” Jaskier said to lighten the mood, and also it _was_ the truth.

Geralt let out a sharp laugh and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Understatement,” he grumbled.

Jaskier smiled, biting his bottom lip. He stared down at their hands. “So. What, um – ” He cleared his throat and lightly stoked the back of Geralt’s hand with his thumb. He was so surprised, even after knowing the truth, that Geralt didn’t pull away. His heart soared. Fuck. “What does this mean?” he asked softly, “for us?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t ever planning to tell you, Jaskier. I didn’t consider what would happen if I did.”

Jaskier nodded. Fair enough. He chewed, thoughtfully, on the inside of his cheek. “We should try,” he said, standing up. He brushed off his trousers. “Stay here.”

Geralt looked confused for a second before he nodded, understanding. “Right.”

Jaskier smiled, small, and turned on his heels. He took two steps, four, eight. He continued until he was easily thirty feet away. He turned back around, heart thrumming with excitement. Geralt had stood up, and was watching him with a grin on his face and –

Fuck, he was so in love. He knew that, always had, but in that moment it was so overwhelming he nearly fell over. He opened his arms, silent, and Geralt rushed over.

Geralt almost tackled him, wrapping his arms around Jaskier and spinning him around, once, like something out of a fucking storybook. Jaskier laughed, free and airy, and buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck.

He smelled of oak and fire and _him_. Jaskier sobbed against his neck, hugging him tighter.

“Fucking _worked_ ,” Geralt breathed like he still couldn’t believe it.

Jaskier pulled back, eyes wet and bright. “We fucking did it,” he said with a wobbly laugh. “Geralt, I – ”

Geralt leaned forward and slammed their lips together, cutting him off with a soft gasp. Jaskier stood there, frozen in shock, for exactly four seconds before his brain started to work again. He mewled, happy, and kissed back, reaching up to dig his fingers in Geralt’s hair, always so unfairly soft. Geralt dipped his hands lower, gripping his hips, and, fuck, fuck –

They were _kissing_. Jaskier imagined a younger him, seeing Geralt for the first time, tucked away in the dark corner of a tavern, and thinking three simple words:

_I want him._

Geralt pulled back and Jaskier whined, unhappy. “Shh,” Geralt said with a smirk, and Jaskier wanted to wipe it off his face, kiss him again.

“Um,” Jaskier said, unable to take his eyes off Geralt’s mouth. “So. I want to do that again.”

Geralt snorted. “ _Really?_ ” he asked, low and teasing, and _oh_ , that went straight to Jaskier’s cock. He brushed his hands down Jaskier’s back, and he shivered, wishing suddenly that Geralt’s hands, big and calloused, were on his bare skin. “I couldn’t tell.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and looked up. “We need to talk… like, _so_ many conversations.”

“Or,” Geralt said, tugging him closer. “We could just say it right here, right now.”

Jaskier swallowed, thick. “Say _what?_ ”

“I want you,” Geralt said, staring down at him with dark eyes. “In every possible way.”

Jaskier almost laughed. He could cry he was so happy. “I want that, too,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt leaned into his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. Fuck, this was really happening. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life,” he admitted.

“Problem solved,” he replied with a hint of amusement.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, entirely fond, and nosed at his jaw. “It’s not that easy, Geralt, and you know it.”

Geralt shrugged and moved his hands under Jaskier’s shirt. He didn’t do much of anything, just laid his hands on his waist but it was enough to make Jaskier shiver. “ _Isn’t_ it?” he asked, quiet, a determined set to his eyebrows.

And, well, he had a point. They were no longer cursed. They made the rules now. So, without replying, Jaskier kissed him. Geralt growled, low in his throat, and tugged him closer. Jaskier could feel Geralt through his trousers, half-hard, and he was torn between wanting to kiss him for hours and dropping to his knees. He ended up doing both, and Geralt seemed pleased with his decision.

If they never ended up straying much further than ten feet apart after that day, it was solely by choice.

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoy my fics please check out:  
> korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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